


Click-Boom

by Molly_Hats



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Birds of Prey (Comic), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: 911 Calls, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternative universe - police, American Sign Language, Barbara Gordon is disabled, Because it’s me, Canon disabled characters, Canon-Typical Violence, Cassandra Cain uses sign language, Faceblind Tim, Gen, Hamilton References, Prosopagnosia, Sign Language, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 8,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly_Hats/pseuds/Molly_Hats
Summary: 911 operator and foster mother Barbara Gordon makes a life-changing decision.  She takes on a third daughter in witness protection, moving herself, Wendy, and Cassandra across the state to rich-but-rural Hamilton Heights in the process.But trouble starts brewing immediately: Wendy’s shot at the Paralympic wheelchair basketball team seems further from becoming reality away from good facilities, and her father keeps threatening to get back in touch, even if it requires some felonies.  Cassandra struggles to express herself, turning to amateur ballet as an outlet.  Stephanie tries to keep her identity secret, even as she realizes that old friend Tim Drake is in Hamilton...and on the yearbook team.  Barbara is just trying to get settled, keep her girls safe, and find time to hang out with cool florist Dinah Lance.





	1. Who Lives and Who Dies

GORDON: 911, what’s your emergency?  
CALLER: Please, help me, my dad killed someone, I think he’s trying to kill me, his name is Arthur Brown!  
GORDON: Where are you right now, miss?  
CALLER: Corner of Kane and Finger, send someone fast, please!  
GORDON: Alright, miss. What is your name?  
BROWN: Stephanie Brown, hurry!  
GORDON: Does your father know your location?  
BROWN: I turned off my phone and I just called my mom from a pay phone, I didn’t even know those still existed, they’re divorced, my mom and my dad are divorced, I’m supposed to be at her place but I came back and he killed someone!  
GORDON: Can you leave the pay phone?  
BROWN: Y-yeah.  
GORDON: There’s a police station about two blocks away. Can you make it there?  
BROWN: Maybe but I don’t know how to get there.  
GORDON: I can send an officer to you instead.  
BROWN: There’s a car coming going really slow, I saw it outside my house, I think it’s my dad!  
GORDON: Stay calm, get out of here now, get inside.

[Sound of gunshots and shattering glass, recording ends]

:::

“Rough night?” Dick asked, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down himself on the booth seat across from her. He wore a coat over his police officer uniform, and he set his hat on the table. 

“One of those that makes me wish we just had to worry about filing for wrongful reports,” Barbara said, gratefully taking a large sip and ignoring the burning in her throat. 

Dick winced in sympathy. “Any particulars?”

“Confidentiality,” Barbara reminded, looking at him over the rims of her glasses. 

“Of course,” Dick said quickly. 

They sat in comfortable, if exhausted, silence for a few minutes. 

Barbara finally spoke. “Your precinct includes Kane street.”

“Yeah, why?”

“Were there any homicides tonight? Gun involvement. Teenage girl.”

Dick blinked. “Not that I know of. Yeesh, Babs, that sounds like hell.”

Barbara scooted over to her wheelchair and slipped into it. She sighed and shook her head. “Just another day at the office.”

“Hey, Babs, I can...I can try to get some closure on that case.”

Barbara smiled slightly, then shook her head and pressed her lips into a tight line. “Thank you, Grayson. But I won’t let you misuse the database for my sake.”

Dick nodded and stood up. “Walk you home?”

“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean—“

Barbara smiled guiltlessly this time and shook her head. “I know what you meant. Goodnight, Officer.”

Dick grabbed his hat and placed it back on his head so that he could tip it dramatically to her. “Goodnight, Ms. Gordon.”

That night, after she maneuvered into bed, she made a mental note to hack into the police database tomorrow in her time off. She wasn’t usually one to interfere uninvited, but she made rare exceptions, and Stephanie Brown sounded like she needed one.


	2. So Listen to My Declaration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara answers a medical call in the Narrows, and Officer Dick Grayson interrogates Stephanie Brown.

GORDON: 911, what’s your emergency?  
CALLER: My brother was attacked, he’s unconscious, he’s beaten bad. I found him like this, I don’t know how long he’s been like this. 52 Snyder Street, apartment 402.  
GORDON: Okay. I’m sending an ambulance. Are you safe staying put?  
CALLER: Yes, I think so. I think it’s the usual cowards, they’re scared of me, I’ve got a taser.  
GORDON: I’ll stay on the line until the authorities arrive. What’s your name?  
ROW: Harper Row, my brother’s Cullen.  
GORDON: The ambulance is about 7 minutes out.  
ROW: Thank you. He’s never been this bad before, usually they just rough him up a bit, I protect him but I have work so I can’t always be here.  
GORDON: Is he bleeding?  
ROW: I already cleaned him up, he’s breathing fine. [unidentifiable sound in the background] Excuse me a sec. [muffled but shouting] GET THE F*** OUT OR I’M TASING YOU, AN’ I’LL WARN YOU I MODIFIED IT. DUNNO WHAT IT’LL DO TO YOUR ASS, WANNA FIND OUT? [more muffled noises] Sorry. Some assholes decided to come back for round two.  
GORDON: They left?  
ROW: Yeah, but they live nearby. Too lazy to hunt down any prey more than a couple stairs away.  
GORDON: Ambulance is 5 minutes away, but I have a cop walking beat nearby.  
ROW: That’d just make it worse, ma’am.  
GORDON: I’ll have him monitor subtly from afar, okay?  
ROW: Don’t send him in.  
GORDON: I won’t send him in, Harper.  
[Several minutes of mostly silence, ending with some creaks of what sounds like the floor and a siren drawing closer]  
GORDON: Ambulance is here, coming upstairs.  
ROW: Thank you.  
[sounds of several people, muffled talking]  
[End of recording]

:::

Stephanie nervously crossed and uncrossed her legs, watching the one way mirror, hoping to catch the eye of those she was sure were watching her through sheer luck. As she scanned along eye level for the third time, the door opened and an officer ended.

He was young and attractive, with unseasonably tan skin (maybe mixed race), black hair, and blue eyes. He sat down across from her.

“Hi,” he said, smiling brilliantly and seemingly genuinely. “I’m Officer Grayson. You can skip the Officer part, it’s a hassle.”

“You know my name,” she said, meeting his eyes.

He pulled out a tape recorder. “For the record?”

“Stephanie Brown.”

He smiled. “Okay, Stephanie. From the way you called in, you know what you saw and you want to cooperate. We’ll set you up with a foster home under WP—witness protection.”

“But...my mom…”

Grayson’s face dropped slowly. “Stephanie, your Mom was the one who tipped off Arthur.”

The world spun, but Stephanie kept her balance pretty well, all things considered. “No…”

“I’m so sorry, Stephanie,” Grayson said. “But we can’t send you back to her. Your only chance is if everyone in your old life thinks you’re dead.”

“I have friends!” Stephanie said, the words bursting out. She immediately regretted them, how they made her sound immature and stupid. “I have...I have a boyfriend,” she said, giving up. “And I can’t let Mom just think I’m dead!”

Grayson nodded. “We’ll try to make the transition as smooth as we can.”

“Thanks,” Steph said, standing up, “but I need...I need to think, okay?”

“Alright,” Grayson said. He tapped the recorder. “Would it be alright if you told us what you know about your father’s murders in the meantime?”

Steph sat back down and stared down at the recorder. “Okay. I was supposed to go to Mom’s house, but I realized I left my tablet at Dad’s, so I went back for it…”


	3. I’ll Do Whatever It Takes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara gets a call and discusses it with Cassandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra Cain appears in this chapter. In this ‘verse she uses primarily ASL. I’m learning, and I’m not sure how best to transcribe it, so I’ll be trying some stuff out. Bear with me. :). If you have any feedback on his best to write this, hmu

GORDON: Hello, Gordon residence, Barbara Gordon speaking.  
SECRETARY: Ms. Gordon, we pulled your file up. We have a foster child who has some complications which your profile appears to cover.  
GORDON: What kind of “complications”?  
SECRETARY: The child in question needs to be located within Witness Protection. Outside Gotham.  
GORDON: You want me to move?  
SECRETARY: We would pay to get you settled and help you find a job.  
GORDON: When should I come in to interview?  
SECRETARY: You’ll take her?  
GORDON: I’m not promising anything. I’ll just come down and see what this entails. Has she been in custody before? How old is she?  
SECRETARY: She needs to be moved as soon as possible. 15. She witnessed against her parents, she’s never been in care.  
GORDON: Then I’ll go tomorrow.  
SECRETARY: Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Gordon.  
GORDON: You're welcome.  
[end call]

:::

Barbara wheeled to the fridge and pulled out a leftover salad. She set it on the table and eased herself into the kitchen chair. “They have another girl they want me to take in.” Across from her, Cassandra stuffed a handful of Cheerios into her mouth and watched Barbara, the question in her eyes.

Cassandra chewed and swallowed without scooping up any more. Slowly, her lips shaping the words before she spoke, she asked, “Who?”

“Somebody in witness protection.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened, and she jerked her chair back, standing up. Barbara leaned over the table to catch her arm.

“Cassandra, wait! What’s got you so upset?”

Cassandra turned back to her, mouth slightly open, face slightly contorted with the effort of figuring out how to explain. She finally raised her hands and signed. “ _Finish + my + friend + die. Finish + call + mother. Finish + he + die_.”

Barbara quickly translated, annoyed at herself for forcing Cassandra to limit her impressive vocabulary. “Your friend was in witness protection and he died because he called his mom?”

Cass nodded, her eyes lighting up with a proud smile before it fell again into seriousness. 

Barbara smiled back in spite of herself, but grew solemn just as quickly. “Cassandra, we’d have to move. Across the country, maybe. I won’t sign up for this without consulting you.”

Cassandra frowned down at her hands, which lay still on the table. Finally, she signed again, crossing her wrists slightly and pulling them apart horizontally, her expression conveying the question.

“I don’t know if she’ll be safe without us,” Barbara admitted. “I don’t know if we’ll be safe with her.”

Cassandra stood up and walked to the pantry, shoving the Cheerio Tupperware back into its spot. She wiped her hands on her pants and turned back to Barbara. 

“If you say no, I’ll drop it, Cass, I promise,” Barbara said.

Cass shook her head and signed “want,” followed up by “maybe.”

“I should go to the interview and then talk to you?”

Cass nodded, grabbed her backpack off the counter, signed a quick “I love you,” and left for school.


	4. Write Like You’re Running Out of...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Tim Drake (in flashback). Meanwhile, Stephanie composes an important letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: changed who found Tim from random unnamed characters. 2/24/2018

[Six Months Ago]

GORDON: 911, what’s your emergency?  
TAMARA FOX: A kid just stumbled into our house, he’s covered in blood, young teenager, black hair.  
GORDON: Can you tell if he’s injured?  
TAM. FOX: My dad’s trying to wash him up right now. [To someone else on the other end of the line] The 911 lady needs to know if he’s hurt!  
GORDON: is he injured?  
TAM. FOX: A little scratched up and covered in dried blood, but dad doesn’t think it’s his. We peeled his shirt off and washed him up...He’s got a big gash on his chest but it’s scabbed over.  
GORDON: Is he conscious?  
TAM. FOX: he’s all woozy-y. Wobbly, like his head won’t sit straight.  
[indistinct male voice in the background]. What do we do?  
GORDON: We have an ambulance heading to your location. Ask him his name and age.  
TAM. FOX: What’s your name? How old are you?  
[indistinct on the other end of the line] He says he’s Tim. 14.  
GORDON: Ask him his last name, and then have him countdown from 10.  
TAM. FOX: What’s his last name? [Unintelligible] oh my [unintelligible]. It’s Tim Drake! It’s the kid from the news!  
GORDON: Sit tight, the ambulance will be there soon, okay? Lie him flat on the floor on his back, don’t put his head in a pillow, don’t try to feed him. Don’t give him water unless he asks and he’s conscious and upright. If he’s wearing any restrictive clothing, loosen it.  
TAM. FOX: Okay. I’m gonna put you on speaker.  
GORDON: Okay.  
LUCIUS FOX: This is her father. His clothes are covered in blood, so I’ve given him another shirt. He looks like he’s been through hell, half starved.  
GORDON: the ambulance is in front of your house.  
TAM. FOX [in background]: I see it!  
[CALLER hangs up]

:::

_Dear Harper,_

Stephanie wrote, and stopped. She looked at the pictures the lady at the station had recovered from her phone: her and Harper laughing on the steps of the laser tag place, their faces lit by the neon glow behind them. If she zoomed in, she imagined she could see Tim’s reflection in their eyes.

_I’m sorry you have to lose another friend._

Stephanie frowned and picked up another piece of paper. 

_Dear Harper,  
If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but I’d rather tell you myself._

She cracked a bitter grin at that. Harper would appreciate it.

_Turns out I actually won the battle of terrible dads. He’s a serial killer, Harps. He’s after me, I saw him, and he might come after you. Stay safe._

She wouldn’t have had time. She would’ve been hurrying. What would she have said? 

She’d considered calling Harper, of course she had, but her friend had enough on her plate with Cullen and the shock of everything that happened with Tim. 

_Don’t seek him out. Cullen needs you, okay? Tell him that I don’t care RWBY isn’t anime, it’s good, he should watch it._

Steph crossed out the last sentence and rapped the pencil on the desk and eyed Officer Grayson, who casually slouched in the corner. He caught her eye. “Trying to figure out what to say?” He asked.

Stephanie nodded. “It has to sound natural, but I want it to be just right.”

He nodded. “I understand.”


	5. Leave A Letter, Tell ‘Em Where You’ve Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick calls home and delivers a letter

PENNYWORTH: You’ve reached Wayne Manor, although I am afraid Master Bruce is unavailable.  
GRAYSON: Even for his firstadopted?  
PENNYWORTH: Master Richard! Will you be joining us and the Kanes for Passover after all?  
GRAYSON: Unfortunately, probably not. I’m just calling cause I’ve got a friend who’ll need a job, wanted to put in the good word for her at Wayne E. Barbara Gordon. She’s a tech genius, currently works as a 911 dispatcher ‘cause she wanted a job in the blue line.  
PENNYWORTH: I’ll speak to Master Bruce.  
GRAYSON: How’s Tim adjusting?  
PENNYWORTH: [sighs] Not well, I’m afraid. I sometimes wonder if we made the right decision, taking him out of Gotham.  
GRAYSON: Can I talk to him?  
PENNYWORTH: He’s out right now. He’s taken to urban photography.  
GRAYSON: Good for him. Tell him I said hi, okay?  
PENNYWORTH: I shall. Goodbye, Master Richard.  
GRAYSON: Bye, Alf.

:::

 

  
_Dear Harper,_  
_If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but I’d rather tell you myself. Turns out I actually won the battle of terrible dads. He’s a serial killer, Harps. He’s after me, I saw him, and he might come after you. Stay safe. Don’t seek him out. Cullen needs you, okay? Tell him that I don’t care RWBY isn’t anime, it’s good, he should watch it._  
_I know I promised I wouldn’t leave you like Tim did. I’m so sorry, Harper. I love you (no romo, probably)._  
_-Steph_

__

__

“No,” Cullen whispered from behind her. She tried to push him away, but he nestled himself onto her shoulder so he could still read the note in her hand.

The officer sitting across from them in a hastily pulled-up chair said nothing. His uniform was casual, halfway between undercover and beat cop. It was a Narrows precaution. His blue eyes watched them sadly, and Harper’s own flipped up to catch them. 

“So she’s...she’s definitely…” Cullen asked first.

The officer nodded. “Stephanie Brown was declared dead at 10:07 Wednesday night.”

“Of what?” Harper demanded. 

The officer’s eyes briefly darted to Cullen before he answered, “multiple gunshot wounds in the chest and back.”

Cullen flinched, but Harper just held up the note so the policeman could see it. “Did she get to testify?”

The officer looked uneasy. “Yes. The case is in process, so I can’t give details, but she did provide us with vital information before she passed.”

“Have you arrested Brown?”

“Ms. Row—“ 

“Look, Steph said she was in danger, now she’s dead,” Harper said, standing, her voice wavering only a little. She hoped the officer wouldn’t notice. “She said we could be in danger too, and she knows what we deal with on the average day. So we need answers, and if you’re a servant of the public safety, you’ll give us the information we need to stay safe!” She rattled off, trying not to let her fear and grief show. The news was slowly leaking into her, threatening to break a dam of emotions, and she wasn’t letting this policeman go without an argument. 

The policeman stood up too, hesitating. “I know this is hard. Just...don’t go to the funeral, lie low, and don’t let anyone know Brown communicated with you.”

“Then why the he—ck,” Harper caught herself, “Did you come here yourself to deliver the message, Officer—-?”

“Grayson.” Dick sighed and fiddled with his nightstick holster. “Look, I see a lot as a policeman around here. Few cases really get endings. I know this case is in progress, but I wanted to be able to give you and her some closure. A...last goodbye.”

Harper was slightly taken aback, startled. “Oh...thank you,” she managed to get out.

Grayson nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Row.” He left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time: I started writing this with no idea where I was going. I’ve made an outline now, and I’ve made some slight changes in the already posted chapters. Apologies for any inconvenience, but I hope this generally makes a better experience. Thanks for all the people who’ve commented and/or left kudos, I really appreciate it!


	6. Go Upstate

HARRIS: Yello?  
KUTTLER: Wendy? Sweetheart, I’m so sorry, it’s going to be okay now, I promise.  
HARRIS: Da—Dr. Kuttler?  
KUTTLER: Yes, sweetie, I’m gonna make it all better, I promise. I’ve made so many mistakes, but I’ll make them all up to you.  
HARRIS: No, Dad, I’m happy. You don’t need to get involved—  
KUTTLER: I promise, Wendy. We can be a family again. I’ll take care of the b**** who stole you from me, and we’ll get our life back. You’ll see.  
HARRIS: Dad, no, I’m happy!  
KUTTLER: She’s tricked you. She stole you, and you’ll see that when she’s gone.  
HARRIS: No, listen to me! She’s a better parent than you ever were! Please, if you love me at all, get the f*** out of my life!  
KUTTLER: I love you, Wendy.   
[KUTTLER hangs up]

:::

“Dad called me at basketball practice,” Wendy said, slamming her bag down on the low table and aggressively wheeling her way into the living room. 

“How’d he get your number?” Barbara asked in a carefully calm tone Wendy had grown to hate. It’s her Dispatcher Voice, and Wendy hated how impersonal it was when directed at her.

“I don’t know, the usual hacker bullcrap,” Wendy said, waving her hand. “He told me we could be a family again, blah blah, he’ll make it up to me, and you’re a b**** who stole me from him. The usual.”

“Perhaps a move would be good, then,” Barbara said with a tone too casual to actually be casual. 

“We’re moving?” Wendy demanded.

“You were off at practice this morning when I first brought it up to Cassandra. I went to get more details. There’s a girl who needs a home. She’s my niece.”

“Wait, what? Junior had a kid?” Wendy asked. 

Barbara looked Wendy directly in the eye. “She’s _my niece_ ,” she emphasized in lieu of an explanation, “and we need to leave Gotham if we take her in.”

“But…” Wendy said. “I can’t leave my team!”

“You told me you were trying out for the Olympic team,” Barbara said. “You’d have left them because of that anyway.”

Cassandra slipped in through the side door and entered the living room to find Wendy and Barbara glaring at each other. She slowly made her way toward her own room, but Wendy whipped around to turn on her. 

“You knew we might be moving and were okay with it? We’re officially moving now! Thanks a lot!”

Cassandra looked questioningly at Barbara.

Barbara sighed. “Kuttler found Wendy. We have more reason to leave than before.”

“Don’t pin this on me—“

“I didn’t,” Barbara said. “I was going to ask you your thoughts, but you supplied me with another reason to go. Therefore, we’re leaving.”

Wendy finally started crying, angry as she furiously pushed herself to her own room with a series of powerful strokes. Cassandra’s eyes looked wet too.

“We leave this weekend,” Barbara said. “Tell Wendy not to tell anyone about my niece being the reason we’re leaving.”

Cassandra signed “maybe” again. “ _Will not_ ,” she signed, then directed two fingers to point at herself as she moved her hand.

“She won’t look at you?” Barbara translated, guessing at the inflection of _“look_.”

Cass nodded.

Barbara sighed. “Try, please, Cass.” She paused. “Are you alright with this?”

Cass shrugged. 

Barbara nodded. “Thank you. For being so flexible.”

Cass made a vague motion with her head Barbara couldn’t really interpret and headed after Wendy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Gotham is technically in Jersey (Insert cheap shot here), but for the purposes of this fic it’s in New York. This keeps all the moves within state, as well as making the change of Wayne Manor’s exact location less extreme


	7. My Sister Makes Her Way Across the Room to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst! And family dynamics. But mostly angst.

PENNYWORTH: You have reached Wayne Manor. Who is this?  
ROW: Hi, Alfred, it’s Harper again.  
PENNYWORTH: Hello, Miss Harper! I assume you’d like to speak to Master Timothy?  
ROW: Yeah, thanks.  
PENNYWORTH: I’ll call him.  
[brief pause]  
DRAKE: Hi, Harper.  
ROW: Tim. Hi.  
DRAKE: What's wrong?  
ROW: It’s...it’s Steph.  
DRAKE: No. What happened?  
ROW: She’s dead, Tim.  
DRAKE: You don't get to make geek references at times like this, Harper!  
ROW: I swear that was unintentional. [sigh] Her dad turned out to be a serial killer and she...he found out she saw.  
DRAKE: ...thank you for telling me.  
ROW: I’m not supposed to go to her funeral.  
DRAKE: Arthur Brown is still loose?  
ROW: Yeah.  
DRAKE: I...How are you holding up?  
ROW: Cullen’s a wreck, he’s been keeping me too busy to really process. How’re you enjoying the country?  
DRAKE: It’s hardly the country.  
ROW: It’s hardly Gotham, either.  
DRAKE: It’s fine. Lots of stuff to photograph. Mr. Wayne—Bruce—he has a darkroom he’s letting me use.  
ROW: Good. Um. We should talk again.  
DRAKE: Yeah. Bye, Harper.  
ROW: Bye, Tim.

:::

Cass knocked on Wendy’s door, then let herself in.

Wendy lay on back in her bed, tossing a basketball into the air and catching it over her chest. She glanced at Cass without moving her head.

“You know what moving means for me, right?” Wendy said.

Cass, knowing Wendy wasn’t waiting for an answer, sat down.

“You need a certain type of wheelchair to play. What do you want to bet they’ll have those in Nowhere, Upstate New York? And you know we don’t have money to buy if we can’t borrow anymore.” Wendy tossed the ball a bit too hard, and it bounced off the ceiling. Without thinking, Cass’ arm shot out to catch it before it smacked into Wendy’s face. 

Wendy’s lip curled, and she pushed herself up to grab the basketball with one hand while the other propped her up. “You could play fine, if you wanted,” she snarled. “You could do anything, right? Of course you could. You’re f***ing perfect.”

Cass froze, backing away.

“You could do anything easy, but you never try! If you wanted, you could do everything I can’t!”

“ _Stop, Stop, stop_ ,” Cass signed over and over, her hand smacking into her palm, but Wendy was on a roll. 

Wendy angrily swiped at the tears on her cheeks with her hands, ignoring her filthy fingerless gloves. “And even now, you’re her favorite. You see that, right? And you love her, she’s your mother, she’s…She’ll keep you.” She threw the ball at Cass, a hard pass from the chest. Cass dodged out of the way with a slight turn.

Cassandra started signing something fast, but Wendy ignored her. Cass tapped her hard on the shoulder, but Wendy obstinately stared at the ceiling. Cassandra in desperation gently took Wendy’s chin and pulled her to meet her eyes. Deliberately, she slowly began to sign for Wendy’s benefit, slowing herself down with slight trembling, eyebrows angry but expression earnest. 

“ _I want_ ,” then swung 2 fingers back and forth along her open palm. As Wendy watched in confusion, Cassandra slowly swirled her fingers up like a jump.

“I got nothing,” Wendy said apologetically.

Cassandra waved her hand through the air as if erasing the past few signs. “ _B-a-l-l-e-t. T-o-o m-u-c-h._ ”

“Oh.” Wendy said, wishing for her basketball to fiddle with. She felt suddenly conscious of her rather useless hands, which twitched on the bedspread as if they, too, wanted to join in the conversation. 

Cassandra shrugged, and she made one of the few signs Wendy knew. “ _Remember_.”

“I’m sorry,” Wendy said, her hand clumsily finding its way to her chest and making a fist. She realized she didn’t exactly remember which way she was supposed to go.

Cassandra smiled and circled the middle of her chest with her fist. Wendy noted that it was clockwise and followed suit.

Cassandra smiled and grabbed the basketball off of her bed, tossing it lightly to Wendy. 

Wendy caught it. “Thanks, Cass,” she said. “In case I didn’t say what I thought I said...I’m sorry. I didn’t know. And I mean I was still a b****.”

Cass didn’t respond. 

“Babs is right. It’s killing me, but she’s right. Dad’s dangerous, and if he hurt you or Babs, I’d never forgive myself.”

Suddenly Cassandra was hugging her, and Wendy found herself relaxing into the touch, even though she normally hated it. Cassandra had that effect.

They stayed that way for awhile. Babs swung by and quickly left again, not wanting to upset the rare moment of domestic tranquility.


	8. Never Find Anyone as Trusting or as Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Batgirls finally meet each other.

GRAYSON: Hi! You’ve reached the personal phone of Officer Dick Grayson. Leave a message, and I’ll drop you a line as soon as I can. [beep]  
GORDON: Hi, Dick. We’re shipping out today. We might need to go a bit quiet for awhile. I’ll call you eventually. Stay safe. [End message]

:::  
Outside the car, “Aunt” Barbara was talking to her caseworker, a tall, white-haired woman. Stephanie slipped into the van, its dark tinted windows shutting out most of the light as she swung the door shut. She turned to see her new roommates.

A girl with short black hair with a red shock through it sat in a wheelchair, glaring daggers at her. Her arms were crossed, and Stephanie almost shuddered as she imagined how long the girl might’ve been waiting for her to come in, burning a hole through the door and deep into her psyche with sheer force of will.

Another girl approached Stephanie, smiling wide. With a tilt of her head, she indicated the girl in the wheelchair and waved her hand dismissively. She took one of Stephanie’s hands in both of hers and led her to one of the seats. She patted a seat, and sat down between it and the girl in the wheelchair. She tapped the chair and looked at the other girl expectantly.

The girl in the chair sighed. “I’m Wendy, that’s Cassandra. She has trouble talking, so she mostly uses ASL, ‘though she can use SEE until you pick up on the basics.” The disdain in her voice was not lost on Stephanie. She could hear the criticism, the accusation. _You don’t even have the decency to learn her language when she actually likes you, you selfish brat._

“I’ll try to learn quick,” Stephanie said, ignoring Wendy to speak directly to Cassandra. Cassandra smiled.

“I’m Stephanie. You can call me Steph. Babs is my aunt.”

“Yeah. We know.” 

Cassandra coughed. 

Babs finally entered the car and glanced back at them from her place at the wheel. “Everybody buckled?”

Cassandra nodded.

“Nobody dead yet?”

Wendy huffed, her eyes rolling up to her forehead. If her hair was longer, it might’ve been swayed by the rush of air. 

“I’ll take that,” Babs said. “Welcome to the family, Stephanie.”


	9. Raise a Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time skip! The Gordon Girls are relatively settled in Hamilton Heights.

HARRIS: Hello?  
DRAKE: May I speak to Wendy Harris? My name’s Tim Drake, I’m from the Hamilton Heights High School Yearbook.   
HARRIS: I’m Wendy. What do you want?  
DRAKE: We’re looking for seniors to profile, and I heard that you’re trying out for the Paralympic Wheelchair Basketball team. Would you be willing to let me interview you for a package?  
HARRIS: In person, or on the phone?   
DRAKE: In person would be nice, but we can do phone, text, Facebook messenger...   
HARRIS: I can meet you in the courtyard before school tomorrow.  
DRAKE: Sounds perfect. Thank you, Wendy.  
HARRIS: Thank you, Tim.  
[End Call]

:::

Officer Drake-Lance blew on her coffee and took a large sip, a single gray lock of hair slipping out of her tight bun and sticking to her cheek. Across from her, Barbara drank from her own cup, idly watching the door. They both looked up as the door opened and a tall young woman with long blonde hair swung open the door, a swagger in her step as she made her way across the cafe in her high heeled boots. She wore professionally dark jeans and a blueish green shirt, but Barbara’s eyes caught an odd detail: tight knit black fishnet stockings that vanished under her pant cuffs.

Officer Drake-Lance smiled and stood up to grab another chair from an unoccupied nearby table. The young woman’s face lit up with a huge grin as she made her way over to them. 

Barbara had been around cops too long, so she was rather unused to seeing such plain, unguarded enthusiasm in someone over 18. She remembered suddenly that that was what had drawn her to Dick, that casual playfulness he never quite lost. 

Officer Drake-Lance slid over another chair for the young woman to slip into, then sat back down herself. “Barbara, this is Dinah, my daughter. She’s a florist. Dinah, this is Barbara Gordon. She’s a new 911 dispatcher here. Dinah, Barbara’s a foster mom, too. You two have so much in common, I know you’ll get along well.” She made a show of checking her watch, then said, “Duty calls!” She hopped up and was out the door before Barbara could say anything, casting a quick wink at Dinah, who rolled her eyes.

The awkward silence lasted around five seconds before Dinah spoke.

“Sorry about that. My mom’s always trying to set me up with people on the force. Thinks somebody else should help raise Sin.”

“Sin?” Barbara raised one of her eyebrows.

“My daughter,” Dinah said. “Cynthia. She’s technically my foster daughter, now, but the adoption should go through soon.” She smiled more tenderly than she had at her mother as she looked down at her phone, her finger swiping and tapping at the screen. She turned it to face Barbara and scrolled through several pictures of a brightly smiling black-haired girl with missing side teeth: running around, grinning alongside a red haired boy with her arm around his shoulders, wearing a gi in a martial arts class, and dancing in a tutu alongside several other little girls, her shoulders slightly above even with the lower barre. 

“She’s adorable,” Barbara said. “My girls came to me as teenagers.”

“How many?” 

“Three. Wendy and Cassandra and Stephanie.”

Dinah whistled, clicking her phone off and tapping her fingers on the table. “Sounds like a handful.”

“They’re sweet girls,” Barbara said rather defensively. 

“Of course, I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. How old are they? Sin’s seven in a couple weeks.”

“Wendy’s 18,” Barbara said. “Cassandra, we don’t know her exact birthday, but she’s around 15 or 16. Stephanie is 16.” 

“They all in high school, then?” Dinah asked.

“Yes,” Barbara said, not volunteering more information. 

“When’s your shift start?” Dinah switched tacks.

“An hour.”

“Mine starts in...23 minutes. I better get going.” She pulled out a dark colored business card with floral patterns on its edges and slid it across the table with her fingertips. “We should meet up, I haven’t met any other foster families around here. My work number’s on there, ‘sokay to call me at work, it’s a better shot than my personal at actually getting me. Worst case scenario you get sent to voicemail. Drop me a line, ask me how the day’s going, where to get decent food downtown, whatever.”

Barbara took the card. “Thank you. I’m afraid that my work number is less flexible. Nobody calls to ask me if I’m having a nice day,” Barbara said wryly. “And if they do, I have to write them up.”

“If you or your girls would rather stop by, my flower shop’s called Laurels. It’s near here.” She rapped the business card with a recently manicured fingernail to point out the address. 

“Thanks, Dinah.” 

Dinah smiled and stood up. “Better run. 21 minutes! Nice to meet you, Barbara!” She slipped out of her chair and was out the door before Barbara could blink.


	10. What’s Her Name, Son?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim feels the agony of Yearbook face IDing, and Dinah feels the agony of getting set up on the force.

D. LANCE: Hello, Laurels Florist, how can I help you?  
D. DRAKE-LANCE: Do you do in-person deliveries?  
D. LANCE: Not usually.  
D. DRAKE-LANCE: For your mother?  
D. LANCE: Of course. What do you want?  
D. DRAKE-LANCE: Oh, they’re not for me.  
D. LANCE: Mother!  
D. DRAKE-LANCE: Look, you said you wanted notice. Consider this notice: I’m setting you up.  
D. LANCE: Come on, Ollie’s not awful.  
D. DRAKE-LANCE: you deserve better than “not awful,” Laurie.  
D. LANCE: Fine. What flowers?  
D. DRAKE-LANCE: Whatever you like.  
D. LANCE: Oh no, we have not progressed to the “picking flowers for you” stage in this relationship.  
D. DRAKE-LANCE: You’re a florist. You do that for strangers every day for a living.  
D. LANCE: Fine. Love you, mom.  
D. DRAKE-LANCE: Love you too.  
[D. DRAKE-LANCE hangs up.]

:::

Tim stepped into the yearbook room, filled his mug at the coffee machine (a generous donation by Mr. Wayne, nominally for late nights), and plopped himself down at one of the computers. He plugged in his camera and watched as the computer scrambled through absurd estimates as to when it would finish.

“Hey! Tim! Can you ID this chick?” Ives called from across the room. He pointed to his screen, which was zoomed in so closely on the image that it was pixelated and impossible to identify.

Tim got up and slowly strode across the room, avoiding the maze of chairs and backpacks. “Zoom out, Ives, nobody can ID anyone if they’re just a bunch of…”. He froze as Ives complied. 

A girl in a purple apron with her hair in a blonde ponytail grinned down at her waffle iron, a plate of already created waffles beside it, while other kids worked in the background.

“...pixels,” Tim finished without thought.

“So, you recognize her?” Ives asked eagerly.

Tim’s hand shifted from the back of Ives’ chair to his shoulder, squeezing hard.

“Ow! What the heck, man?”

“This isn’t funny, Ives! Where’d you get that photo?”

Ives’ hand scrambled to the mouse, zooming out further. “I took it at cooking club, on...Wednesday. That hurts, Tim, leggo!”

Tim’s eyes narrowed, but it _was_ in what he recognized as the GIF (Gourmet and International Foods) classroom. Ives was telling the truth about that, at least. “If this is a trick—“

“It’s not, ok? I don’t know who she is, just that she makes a mean waffle. I couldn’t interview her.”

“I need to go,” Tim said, turning abruptly on his heel. “Make sure my photos upload, okay?”

“Where’re you going?”

“I’m going to ask Ms. Bertinelli to look her up. She’s got to have some sort of master list I could cross reference.”

“Good luck.”

“Don’t worry, she loves me,” Tim rattled off the usual banter without much feeling.

“Dream on,” Ives laughed somewhat nervously.


	11. We Know What We Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim calls Harper and interviews Wendy

ROW: Yello?  
DRAKE: How could you?!  
ROW: ...Tim?  
DRAKE: It’s not funny!  
ROW: Tim, what’s going on? What’re you talking about?  
DRAKE: [talking fast] Steph isn’t dead. I should’ve guessed you were kidding with “she’s dead, Tim,” but I didn’t think you’d do anything that cruel.  
ROW: Steph’s alive?  
DRAKE: [crackling on the other end] Cut the act!  
ROW: [slowly and decisively] Tim, I swear, I thought she was dead, I’m staring at her final note now. If there’s a trick being played here, it’s on both of us. How would you know she’s alive?  
DRAKE: I saw her!  
ROW: Where.  
DRAKE: There was a picture, taken at my school…  
ROW: Tim...brace yourself, okay? It might just be—  
DRAKE: [angry, fast] know what I saw, Harper!  
ROW: I don’t doubt that, Tim, but she’s probably...the police told me she was gone. Steph doesn’t have the connections to pull that off.  
DRAKE: A fake cop?  
ROW: Tim…  
DRAKE: You don’t believe me.  
ROW: Look, it’s been months since we last really talked, and you’ve been through a lot.  
DRAKE: I’m not crazy!  
ROW: I didn’t say you were, just listen to me for once instead of talking over me—  
DRAKE: I’ll prove it, okay? And I won’t call you about it for months! Then we’ll see if you really knew she was dead.  
ROW: Tim, you stubborn punk, please—  
[DRAKE hangs up]

:::

Wendy sat in front of the school by the outdoor basketball court, ball in her lap. She’d gotten an early ride from Barbara, with Steph and Cass coming later on the bus. It was worth getting up early to avoid the hassle of the school bus. She idly tossed the ball around as she waited for Tim, her eyes on the road in front of school. 

A yellow car pulled up, and two dark haired boys climbed out. The two boys were alike in hair color, but otherwise very differently built. The one from the front was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing an open leather jacket, a red hoodie, and a confident grin. The other was a bit shorter, but much skinnier, his Space Trek 2022 shirt seeming to hang off of him. He seemed taller thanks to his hair, which was unnaturally slicked up with objectively too much hair gel. Wendy couldn’t clearly see the driver, but an arm poked out and smoothed the bigger boy’s hair down before the door shut. 

As the car drove away, the red hooded one purposely bumped into the other one, knocking him nearly into the road. The other rolled his eyes and looked over, his face lighting up in recognition when he saw Wendy. He quickly made his way over, cutting across the grass. 

“Wendy Harris?” He asked, sticking out a hand.

“Tim Drake?” Wendy replied.

Tim nodded, and Wendy shook his hand, moving it up and down a few times. 

“Was that your brother?” Wendy asked.

Tim grimaced. “More like a cousin. It’s a long story, and we’re here to talk about you.” He glanced over at the bench, and asked, “may I sit?”

Wendy shrugged and moved over to it.

“Okay...I have a recorder,” Tim said, fumbling in his jacket pocket as he sat down. 

“That’s a phone,” Wendy said.

“Wait for it,” Tim said, tilting the screen so she couldn’t see it. He held it out toward her face, and she could see the recording app going.

Wendy rolled her eyes.

“Okay. What’s your name and grade?”

“Wendy Harris. I’m a senior.”

“When and how did you get into wheelchair basketball?”

Wendy knew the question was coming. She tilted her head slightly toward him. “I got in a nasty accident with my brother. I was into most sports before that, never really picked one. After the accident, my options were kinda limited. I fell in love with the sport.”

“What’s your brother’s name?”

“Marvin.” Wendy’s eyes fell. “His name was Marvin.”

“Oh.” Tim paused a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, let’s move on,” Wendy said abruptly. 

“Right,” Tim said quickly. 

The rest of the interview passed quickly, the buses finally pulling up. Wendy saw Cass out of the corner of her eye, a purple-hoodied figure that was probably Steph following closely after.

“Better go,” Wendy said.

“Can I come to your audition to take pictures?” He asked quickly.

“Sure, if you can find it,” Wendy said absently, wheeling to her first class. “Gottabeattherushsorrybye!”

Tim stood nearly in her literal dust. “Basketball. She should’ve joined track.”


	12. For Us To Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuttler calls again, and Babs goes out for coffee with Dinah jr.

HARRIS: Hello! This is Wendy Harris…’s mailbox. Leave a message.  
KUTTLER: Wendy! Sweetie, I miss you. Don’t worry, I’m coming to pick you up soon. I wouldn’t miss your tryout for the world! I love you sooo much. See you next Saturday!  
[KUTTLER ends message]

:::

Dinah slid into the chair across from her with a wide smile. Barbara could see “Dana” written in messy handwriting on the side of her cup, peeking through her fingers. “Hi, Barbie. Babs? Barb?” 

“Babs is fine,” Barbara said. She took a deep sip of her own coffee.

“Mom was trying to get me to bring flowers, but I convinced her that was more of a second-date thing.” 

“This is a date?” Barbara asked, eyebrows raised.

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” Dinah said, setting her hands on the table between them.

Barbara fought back a smile. “I’m not opposed to the idea.”

Dinah grinned for a moment, then cleared her throat. “So...how are the girls settling in? Wendy and Cassandra and…”

“Stephanie,” Barbara supplied.

“Right!” Dinah said. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. We can’t all have an eidetic memory, as Wendy says whenever she forgets to clean her room.”

Dinah laughed.

“Wendy got interviewed by some kid from yearbook, apparently he’s coming to her tryout next Saturday.”

“For the Olympic team?” Dinah asked.

Barbara nodded. 

“It’s that soon?” 

Barbara nodded again. “How’s Sin?”

“Oh, she’s fine,” Dinah said. “Helena’s been watching over her for me after school, and she’s apparently popular with the students.”

“Helena?”

“Bertinelli. We go way back. Well, for some values of ‘way back.’ She teaches at Hamilton Heights, and I can’t afford a babysitter, so she’s doing us a favor.”

Barbara nodded sympathetically. “I can relate.”

“Is that why you adopted teenagers?”

“Oh, no,” Barbara half laughed. “They can take care of themselves, but they get into trouble. When she first came to stay with me, Wendy kept breaking into her physical therapist’s to get in some extra time trying to walk again.”

“Yikes.”

“That stopped after she found basketball, though,” Barbara said. “More or less. It’s good for her. We all need something.”

Dinah nodded. “What’re Cass and Steph up to?” 

“Steph has gotten into the cooking club,” Barbara said. “Although she mostly improvises waffle variations. Can’t complain—she made breakfast one morning on her own without being asked, I think Wendy actually smiled at her. Cass’s been teaching her some ASL basics—her vocabulary isn’t very big yet, but she can finger spell pretty fast.”

“Cass?”

“She’s brought her grades up.” Barbara paused, sighed, and set her elbow on the table so she could rest her head on her hand. Her fingers laced through her hair and gripped her scalp, the red bright against her light brown skin. “I haven’t gotten to talk with her at all much lately. In honesty, I only really made this meeting because it involved coffee.”

Dinah laughed. “That sweet siren, caffeine.”

Barbara smiled. “Yup. It’s been a crazy few days— I’m used to the big city, you know, here I’ve got to be the operator and the dispatcher, and whatever odd jobs anybody needs.”

“Busy time?”

Barbara took a sip of her coffee and closed her eyes as if picturing. “Yeah.” She opened them. “Speaking of which, how’s business?”

“Alright,” Dinah said. “Valentine’s day is around the corner.”

“Right,” Barbara said, caught off guard and feeling stupid about it. She couldn’t hide the lack of enthusiasm that bordered on vague contempt.

“Yeah, I’m one of the people who benefits from the artificial commercial holiday,” Dinah said with a smirk. 

Barbara met Dinah’s eyes. Dinah stared into hers, steely and determined.

Dinah laughed, waving a hand. “It’s fine! Trust me, I’ve heard it all. Don’t totally disagree, either, but business is business and I couldn’t afford to pass it up even if I practically could.”

“Alright, you got me,” Barbara said, breaking into a relieved grin. 

“So when do you need to get back to work?” Dinah asked.

“Shift starts at two, so I should leave…” Barbara checked her watch. “I should’ve left two minutes ago.”

“Need a ride?” 

“You’re sweet, but that’s more hassle than it’s worth,” Barbara said. “This was nice, thanks for meeting me.”

“Likewise,” Dinah said. “Next time flowers?”

Barbara smiled as she wheeled toward the door, away from Dinah. “Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breather episode setting up for the climax. Happy Oracle Day!


	13. Someone in a Rush, Someone Looking Pretty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ballet and bonding

LISA DRAKE: Hello?  
WENDY HARRIS: Hello, my name is Wendy Harris, I’m raising money to go to the paralympics in wheelchair basketball. I’ve been asked to try out, but I need to raise money for equipment and transportation.  
L. DRAKE: ‘m sorry, but I can’t afford to give you anything. Good luck.  
HARRIS: Thank you for your time.  
[L. DRAKE hangs up]

:::

Wendy sighed and set down the phone. She rolled into her room and stopped, taking in the picture before her. 

Cassandra spun in place, her leg swinging out and straightening over and over to pump her around. She beamed, and Wendy couldn’t remember her looking that happy, confident, radiant. Steph watched wide-eyed on the bed. 

Cass brought her toes to her other knee and spun twice, her foot quickly but gently floating down to the ground behind her. 

Steph clapped and stood up. “Oh my gosh, Cass, that was amazing!”

Cass blushed and lowered her head, then she bowed, sweeping her arm to Steph with a dramatic flourish.

Wendy swallowed hard and turned to leave, but Steph heard her and looked over. She waved and scurried to the doorway, Cass trailing after her, smile faded.

“She’s amazing!” Steph gushed. “Like, really amazing! Wendy, you have to see her,” she turned back to Cass, “Cass, can you do it again?”

Cass hesitated.

“You don’t have to, just for my sake,” Wendy said quickly, meeting Cass’ eyes. “But...I’d like to see it.”

Cass’ smile widened again, and she nodded, racing back across the room to the open computer.

“Here, I can get it queued up again,” Steph offered, rushing over. She clicked another ad for Spotify premium closed and rewound the song to the beginning. Cass positioned herself in the center of the room. 

“Ready?” Steph asked.

Cass nodded.

Steph pushed play, and the music, and Cass, sprang into motion. 

She launched into a series of skipping turns, pausing at the end of a phrase to reach out to an unseen lover with one arm, other leg stretched out in arabasque. She lowered her leg and tiptoed backward, arms rising, exuberant not just with the dance, but in acting. She pulled herself up with the music, her leg arcing up behind her, arms outstretched for a long moment, accompanied by violin. 

As the music turned to skipping notes, she darted about the room, filled with a mischievous, confident energy. Wendy couldn’t tell which parts were improvised and which were choreographed, she performed all of it with precision but also a childish delight. 

She paused as the music slowed, then turned on both feet, her arms above her head in a curved shape. She stepped quickly, each foot tracing semicircles as she moved onto the other.

The music accelerated, and Cass turned, ran, and leapt, crossing the room in one long motion. Finally, as the music wound down, she lowered her foot behind her, bent her leg, and sprang into the turn Wendy caught coming in. She pumped her leg once, twice, three times, then spun twice more and landed. 

Cass breathed hard but didn’t relax until the next song started. Steph paused it and ran over to hug Cass.

Cass looked past her, however, to meet Wendy’s eyes nervously.

Wendy smiled. “Sheesh, Cass,” she said. “Just...damn. How?”

Cass grinned and grabbed Wendy in a hug.

“Oh. So we’re doing this now,” Wendy muttered, but didn’t really mean it.

With a second jolt, Steph threw herself into the hug, knocking Wendy’s chair back and making Cass slide a little.

“Oh my gosh, so sorry!” Steph said, her head buried in Wendy’s shoulder.

Wendy sighed and squeezed her back. “It’s okay.” Cass liked her, after all. She couldn't be too bad. Annoying, maybe, but tolerable. 

_I’m so glad Babs isn’t here to see this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music Cass uses is Entree de Loys from Giselle (https://open.spotify.com/track/2PGbrFFVglii6l6wi3o2zz?si=w1ADqfgGR7m2uxM9QnUpLQ). (As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, school has been kicking my butt, so even when I get to write I have to actively struggle not to cite my sources XD).  
> The move Wendy sees twice is a fouetté, which is freaking awesome and I can't adequately describe (don't think anyone can--I read ballet books). You can look them up and I highly recommend it.


	14. A Fraction of Your Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara deals with a car accident call while Tim continues to try to prove or disprove that the girl from cooking club is Steph.

GORDON: 911, what’s your emergency?  
DANIELLE BLY: There’s been an accident, there’s a car that went out of control, it hit someone.  
GORDON: The person who was hit, are they breathing?  
BLY: [covering the phone, yelling to someone] No. Oh my--  
GORDON: Was anyone else hurt? The driver, are they still in the car?  
BLY: We pulled the driver out of the car, he’s unconscious...and he’s got a bump on his head. I don’t think anybody else is hurt, [covers the phone again to yell something]. No, ma’am, no one was hurt.  
GORDON: Where is the crash?  
BLY: Nodell Street. Between...Martin and...Queen.  
GORDON: Just stay on the line, miss.  
BLY: My phone’s dy--  
[BLY cuts out]

:::

Tim stared at the image in front of him, then down at his phone, then back up at the image. The resemblance was there--same nose, same hair, same smile, but he couldn’t know for sure. He never knew any face for sure. 

Prosopagnosia, they called it. “Face blindness.” It was a bit of a misnomer: he could see faces fine, it was just that he didn’t remember them as a cohesive whole. He remembered features, voices, unique ways of walking or talking instead. In yearbook, that generally meant combing Facebook or old club photos for that particular nose or smile or, if he was lucky, facial mark. His legendary prowess at identification was just a product of his ability to master “memorize the picture and then spot the difference” puzzles. 

He unlocked his phone again and clicked to the next picture on the computer, seeing Maybe!Steph from a different angle.

“Tim, y’know, we can just use a different photo,” Ives said behind him. “It’s not your spread, anyway, not your problem.”

Tim gritted his teeth before finally snapping, “don’t you have something better to do? You still need to hunt down that crew copy, right?”

“Sheesh, Tim, chill, alright?” Ives said angrily. “We’re gonna need to put one of those in, so just don’t open any of the others.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Tim said, waiting for Ives to leave. 

Ives obliged a moment later, muttering something about “give him a challenge and he thinks he’s Sherlock Holmes.”

Tim leaned back with a sigh. He couldn’t just go to Ms. Bertinelli and ask to scroll through all the school photos. Going to her was a last resort, as she’d told him on no uncertain terms when he’d came looking for Stephanie Brown in the database and come up empty. You came with a specific kid you’d exhausted all other methods of finding. 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ Tim chided himself as he clicked to the end of the photos of not-Steph and rapidly cycled back. _What do you have to go on here? Same dimples, so freaking what? You never should have been such a jerk to Harper. She’s right. What’s your evidence? A blonde girl you’re not even sure looks uniquely like her who happens to pop up in your same school. That’s bs, and you know it, Drake._

Tim sighed and closed the window viewing the blonde girl, then the folder it was in, then the folder that was in, then the folder _that_ was in, and so on and so forth until he only had a couple of folders open. He clicked open the one that said “Red Team” and clicked open Adobe Bridge. Time to rate the photos that actually mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liiiiiiive! Well, actually, this fic lives. I've been living for awhile. 
> 
> Eeeets aliiiiiive!
> 
> Sorry for the delay, stuff happened and I honestly didn't realize it had been so long until I was scrolling through my old crap and realized that this hadn't been updated in forever. I blame the fact that I have to not only write the main body, but also the phone call and find an applicable title because I'm an IDIOT. So if I'm on a roll with one, it's jarring to switch gears and write another. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented or left kudos! I hope you enjoy.


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